


le nombre de jours qui jonchent le sol d'octobre

by Cerberusia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Handfasting, M/M, Pureblood Culture, Samhain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At home on Samhain after the War, Draco receives a visit from Blaise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	le nombre de jours qui jonchent le sol d'octobre

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Camille song 'Pâle Septembre', meaning 'the number of days which cover the October sun'. For samhain_smut; beta-ed by the lovely B.

While the rest of the Wizarding world is out celebrating Samhain, Draco is sitting at home, in his favourite leather chair by the parlour fire, drinking and contemplating life. He does a lot of that nowadays: he can't bear the company of the new social set, nor most of his former associates in the old. They've all managed to reinvent themselves, Pansy and Blaise and Goyle - though admittedly Goyle did have to move to Romania and become a dragon handler. But Pansy and Blaise, those smooth operators, have fitted seamlessly into this new world. And Draco, he has not.

So he's sat at home on Samhain, while others cavort and make merry, remembering the Samhain parties held at the Manor when he was a child. How strange to say that, _'when I was a child...'_ \- he still feels like a child. His parents have made a new life for themselves on the Continent and are doubtlessly at the Sinistres' in Paris having a gay old time, and he misses them quite terribly. He takes another drink of Firewhiskey; his upbringing won't quite allow him to swig it, but it's a close thing.

The fire plays a piano trill, and Draco sits abruptly upright. It's his personal Floo, the address of which only five people know. Whoever would be calling him?

" _Responde_ ," he says, putting down his tumbler.

"Draco!" Blaise's voice rings warmly through the room. Draco is instantly on his guard: Blaise is very rarely _warm_ , which was one of the things Draco appreciated about him when they first met. He, Pansy and Draco had formed a cold-blooded triumvirate at school and somehow the bonds of something-like-friendship have been preserved throughout everything, though Draco is never entirely sure that Blaise isn't setting him up as a patsy. But these days he can't be too choosy with his friends.

"Blaise," he returns, neutrally. "This is quite unexpected."

"No doubt, but there's something I want to discuss with you, and it really can't wait. And no, before you ask, it's nothing to do with business."

Draco squints suspiciously at the fireplace, but after a moment says,

" _Aperte._ " Blaise, composed as ever, steps out of the fire dressed in magnificent purple robes. He is _terrifically_ handsome, as any child of Zélie Zabini would be, though Draco sometimes thinks he plays up his ordinarily very slight French accent to appear sexier. Which isn't to say it doesn't work.

"You're looking well," Draco says. Blaise smiles, his teeth very white in his dark face.

"So are you," he replies, which is a lie. Draco's had dark shadows under his eyes for the past two years, and they're not going away any time soon. Draco smiles politely, and motions to the bottle of whisky; Blaise shakes his head.

"Already had enough," he says. "Won't you sit down while we discuss things?" Draco is instantly on his guard. Blaise sighs at the sudden tension in his frame. "Really, you are _terribly_ paranoid. I'm not going to attack you, or do any spells; I just want you to be sitting down while I give you my proposal."

Cautiously, Draco does as bid, resettling himself in his chair. Blaise glides towards him, proceeds to straddle him in the chair in one smooth motion and kisses him. He is, of course, very good at it, and Draco is, to be perfectly honest, _very_ lonely — He breaks away after a few seconds.

"If this is a pity fuck, I don't want it," he says, looking Blaise firmly in the eye.

Blaise snorts dismissively as only the French can.

"I don't do pity fucks, as you well know. I'm proposing an amitié particulière, since we never got round to it at school."

Draco shifts under Blaise's weight. "I thought you were after Nott. You always liked them intellectual."

"I was - at school. But I was also 'after' you too. Not that you noticed me or anything else in sixth year." Draco winces at the reminder. "You treated us all very badly, you know," says Blaise reprovingly, and Draco hangs his head. "But you did explain yourself very well," he continues, leaning forward again, "and now I would like to have another go. Isn't Samhain the time for ghosts?" Definitely playing up the accent; definitely working.

"Well," Draco swallows unsteadily, "it can't be the worst decision I've ever made." And he closes that final inch to press together their mouths. He can feel Blaise smile into the kiss.

"Come on," says Blaise, pulling away after quite some time. Draco blinks at him owlishly. "Well I'm not sucking you off here - I don't know who you've been fucking, but I demand an actual bed." So Draco trails after him to the bedroom, despite the fact that Blaise shouldn't really know where it is, and stands there like a lemon because whenever he attempts to help with his own undressing, Blaise slaps his hands away.

"I'm enjoying you," he says, with a fair degree of lasciviousness. Draco submits to it: being looked at like this is embarrassing, and he's still not entirely convinced this is for real, but he keeps in mind his childhood teachings about shame being a bourgeois concept and allows Blaise to delicately but methodically strip him.

Once he stands by his bed fully naked, Blaise distracts him with a kiss. Draco can feel him working on his own robes. Blaise pulls back to pull them over his head, and Draco is struck dumb. He'd seen Blaise mostly-naked all the time at school, but he'd never really _looked_ : it wouldn't have been appropriate. Now, he gets to drink in the vision of ebony skin standing before him. Blaise, true to form, preens under the attention. Then he pushed Draco back onto the bed, crawls on top of him and goes back to kissing him. Naked kissing is, unsurprisingly, even better than clothed.

Draco squirms, wanting this promised blowjob to come along a little faster thank you, and Blaise takes the hint. First, however, he presses a kiss to the slightly sunken spot just below Draco's breastbone, his hand over Draco's thumping heart. Draco swallows against his suddenly dry throat.

Then Blaise turns his attentions lower, tracing the nearly invisible line of hair down Draco's pale belly, and Draco's mouth is dry for an entirely different reason. He has very little experience in this area - very little sexual experience at all, in fact - but knows enough to know that Blaise is a cut above. While Blaise's mouth is around his cock, his tongue working at the slit, the firm grip on his hips is the only thing anchoring him to earth.

Once Draco has taken a moment to recover his senses, Blaise, still looking smug, wriggles back up the bed and teaches Draco how to get Blaise off in return. Draco hopes he seems like he knows what he's doing.

Unsurprisingly, Blaise isn't much of a cuddler, but nor is Draco, so lying side-by-side in sweaty, companionable silence works for both of them.

"So, would you consider it? Tomorrow?" Draco looks to the side to find Blaise looking back at him.

"That's a very short time to decide whether I want to tie myself to you for a year and a day," he stalls.

" _Bouf_ , you've known me for almost a decade. Boys get handfasted to other boys they only met a month ago, and do very well for themselves." Blaise gives him a feline grin. "Come on: aren't you all about keeping the good traditions alive?"

Draco says nothing to this, and any onlooker might think him quite unmoved - until, after a long moment, he feels for Blaise's warm hand and covers it with his own.

"I suppose I should put my wand where my mouth is," he admits quietly.

Blaise sniggers in a highly undignified manner. "So to speak."

"If you're going to be crass about this, I'll change my mind," warns Draco, but his voice has the edge of laughter. He interlaces his fingers with Blaises', for the first time in two years able to think of the future and smile.


End file.
